“Do you need to let William know that you left?” I ask with as little attitude as I can manage. Having to say his name out loud to her is not something I ever need to do again.
“No, just Oakley. I messaged her while I was waiting.” Emery yawns into her fist before propping her head against the window.
I drop the car into drive and pull back out onto the street. Just as we pass by the hockey house, I make eye contact with William as he stands on the walkway to the front door, phone half raised to his ear. His gaze darts to my passenger seat and then back to me, arm lowering to his side.
There is no stopping my smug expression as I drive away with Emery.
You snooze, you lose, little boy.
We stay silent and it doesn’t take long, but the entire time, I am debating whether I should walk her up to her apartment.
I have yet to make a decision by the time I pull into a parking space.
“Emery, do—” I cut myself off after I discover that she has fallen asleep with her lips slightly parted, head pressed to the window.
Sighing, I put the car into reverse, pull back out, and head home.
There is an enormous difference between walking her up to her dorm when she is sober and a professor carrying a passed-out girl into student housing.
The entire drive home, I expect her to wake up. She readjusts at one point, turning into her seat so that she is snuggled into a ball under the jacket, but never wakes up. I wait until the garage door is closed before I open my door and go around to hers, carefully supporting her as I lift her out.
Having her in my arms is bittersweet. I have to remind myself that this is only for now, while she needs the help. This does not mean that she is back. That she is ready to have a conversation.
The fact that she hasn’t been able to bring herself to open the envelope I gave her and read the letter lets me know as much.
But it’s fucking hard.
I deposit her in the spare bedroom that Xavier typically occupies whenever he chooses to spend the night here. Mytheory being that it will make her more comfortable when she wakes up, even though I would much rather her sleep in my own bed, even if I have to crash on the couch.
As quietly as possible, I go to my room and find a comfortable T-shirt to change her into. She hasn’t moved from where I left her. With a stealth I didn’t realize I possessed, or maybe it’s that the alcohol has really pushed her limit, I manage to not only remove her wig, but also get the shirt over her head and then her dress off her body, in that order.
She has a strapless bra on, and I take that off through the shirt, carefully removing it from her body without copping a feel. Once I’ve made her as comfortable as I dare, I free the blankets from beneath her and tuck her in.
I allow myself several seconds of watching her sleep, noting the dark crescents beneath her eyes. Bending down, I kiss her temple. “I’m sorry, baby. You’ll never know how sorry. But I’m hoping you’ll give me the chance to make it up to you ten times over.”
Straightening, I back out of the room and close the door behind me. As I head back to my car to close it all up, I really hope I haven’t just made things even worse.
Chapter 64
Emery
Opening my eyes is not an option.
Not because I’m hungover or feeling sick.
I do have a mild headache, but it’s manageable.
No.
The reason I refuse to open my eyes is because I remember everything from last night, and I am one-hundred-percent confident that I’m not inmybed, inmybedroom, inmydorm.
No.
I’m fucking terrified that I’m in Derek’s bed, in Derek’s room, in Derek’s house.
No. No. No. No.
This can’t be happening.
